America exhausts the springs of one's soul - I suppose that's what it exists for. It lives to see all real spontaneity expire. But anyhow it doesn't grind on an old nerve as Europe seems to.

Far back, far back in our dark soul the horse prances.

The great virtue in life is real courage that knows how to face facts and live beyond them.

What one does in one's art, that is the breath of one's being. What one does in one's life, that is a bagatelle for the outsiders to fuss about.

Sex is just another form of talk, where you act the words instead of saying them.

For God's sake, all of you, say spiteful things about me, then I shall know I mean something to you. Don't say surgaries, or I'm done.

At the back of my life's horizon, where the dreamings of past lives crowd.